‘Hydra,’ he said.
His voice was recorded, checked, ID’d.
‘Orley have received a warning,’ his contact announced.
‘What?’ Xin exploded. ‘When?’
‘Yesterday, late afternoon.’
‘Details?’
‘Someone named Tu sent across a document. It was obviously a fragment of your message.’ The other man drew a deep breath. ‘Kenny, they must have been able to decipher more as well! How could that happen, I thought—’
‘What do you mean?’ Xin began to pace up and down the room. ‘What sort of fragment?’
‘I don’t know yet.’
‘Then I’m telling you this: you’ll take all of our pages down from the web.’
‘If we do that, our whole email communication breaks down.’
‘You’ve tried that argument on me before.’
‘And I was right.’
‘Yes, and look where it got you.’ Xin tried to calm down. He opened the minibar and mechanically began to shift the bottles until they were exactly the same distance apart. ‘The email idea was good for exchanging complex information and for using the global server; phones are enough for everything else. The die is cast. We can’t change anything now anyway. The only thing that could still go wrong would be if my message were cracked completely, so take the pages down from the web!’ He paused. ‘Have you already told him?’
‘He knows.’
‘And?’
The other man sighed. ‘He agrees with you. He thinks we should block the pages too, so I’ll do what’s needed. Your turn now. What’s happening with Vogelaar?’
‘He’s been dealt with.’
‘No more danger?’
‘He had created a dossier. Memory crystal. I’ve got the thing now. His wife was the only one who knew all about it; she’s dead too.’
‘Good news there for a change, Kenny.’
‘I wish I could say the same about yours,’ Xin snapped. ‘Why am I just hearing about this warning now?’
‘Because I only learned about it myself this morning.’
‘How did the company react?’
‘They called Gaia.’
‘What?’ Xin practically dropped the telephone. ‘They’ve told Gaia?’
‘Calm down. Probably because it’s in the news just now. As far as I know everything’s running to plan, they haven’t cancelled any of the trips, nobody wants to leave early.’
‘And who took the call at Gaia?’
‘I’m expecting more details any moment.’
Xin stared into the fridge.
‘Well, fine,’ he said. ‘Find out something for me in the meantime, and fast. Find Yoyo and Jericho in Berlin.’
‘What? They’re in Berlin?’
‘They must be staying somewhere. Hack into the hotel booking systems, the immigration databases. I don’t care how you do it, but find them.’
‘Dear God,’ the other man groaned.
‘What’s up?’ Xin asked threateningly. ‘Are you losing your nerve?’
‘No, that’s no problem. Okay then. I’ll do what I can.’
‘No,’ Xin snarled. ‘You’ll do more than that.’
Grand Hyatt
Just before Xin shot her, Nyela had spread her fingers as though to emphasise what she was saying. He had thought that it was only a gesture of exasperation, but in fact she’d been doing something different. She had been pointing to her face, and at that moment, it was supposed to be Vogelaar’s face. She had been pointing to her eyes.
He is the duplicate!
Vogelaar’s glass eye was a memory crystal. He carried the duplicate around with him, in his eye socket.
‘What a sly fox,’ Yoyo said, half admiring, half disgusted.
Tu snorted with laughter. ‘He could hardly have found a better place for it. An eye for the facts.’
‘So that they come to light once he dies.’ Yoyo had more colour in her face now. Jericho remembered last night. Not ten hours had passed since she had left his room with sunken, hollow eyes, looking dissolute, flushed, blotchy, stinking of cigarette smoke and red wine. She had gone pale again now – after all, life was playing them one dirty trick after another – but other than that, the night’s excesses hadn’t left a mark on her. She looked fresh, smooth-skinned and perky, practically rejuvenated. Jericho was depressed by what this said about youth and intoxicants. For himself, when he’d been drinking the night away, the enzymes only ever worked fitfully, at best, at patching him up again.
‘You know this sort of thing, Owen,’ Tu said. ‘What happens during a forensic autopsy? Will they look at the glass eye as well?’
‘They’ll certainly remove it while they work.’
‘And a memory crystal would stand out?’
‘Anybody with medical training would certainly notice,’ Yoyo said. ‘Assuming that Owen’s right, then the police will have our dossier in their hands in the next few hours.’
Jericho rubbed his chin. He didn’t much like the idea of tangling with the German police. They’d be interrogated for hours, treated with suspicion, quite likely they’d never get a look at Vogelaar’s data. Their own investigation would slow down to a crawl.
Tu handed him a printout.
‘Perhaps you should have a look at what we found out while you were away. We’ve bolded everything that’s new.’
Jan Kees Vogelaar is living in Berlin under the name Andre Donner, where he runs an African private and business address: Oranienburger Strasse 50, 10117 Berlin. What should we continues to represent a grave risk to the operation not doubt that he knows all about the payload rockets. knows at least about the but some doubt as to whether. One way or another any statement lasting Admittedly, since his Vogelaar has made no public comment about the facts behind the coup. Nevertheless Ndongo’s that the Chinese government planned and implemented regime change. Vogelaar has little about the nature of Operation insight of timing Furthermore, Orley Enterprises and have no reason to suspect disruption. Nobody there suspects and by then everything is under way. I count because I know, Nevertheless urgently recommend that Donner be liquidated. There are good reasons to
‘Payload rockets.’ Jericho looked up. ‘That’s another thing that supports what Vogelaar said. That satellite launch was about more than just an experimental rocket.’
‘A payload rocket has to be delivering something,’ Tu said. ‘How did Mayé’s satellite get up into orbit?’
‘Payload rocket,’ Jericho suggested. ‘They’re called carrier rockets as well, I think.’
‘But there’s nothing here about a satellite.’
‘No. Looks like it has nothing to do with the satellite. It’s about some other pay-load.’
Tu nodded. ‘I took the opportunity to talk to some people who my people have helped out in the past. I couldn’t get any definite information, but they gave me some well-founded supposition. Apparently, the Chinese government has never launched its own space projects from foreign soil. That story about wanting to avoid the insurance treaties is as threadbare as Chairman Mao’s shroud. The whole thing must have been dreamed up for Mayé’s benefit; at any rate it doesn’t accord with current practice to shuffle the risk onto other states like that.’
‘So it could have been something that Zheng was doing on his own account?’
‘There’s no record of the Zheng Group having been active in Africa anywhere but in Equatorial Guinea that one time. It looks doubtful that they were acting for Beijing. My informants don’t think so. So did the Chinese government have anything to do with the Equatorial Guinea space programme, or with the coup against Mayé? Yes, if you are working on the premise that people like Zheng Pang-Wang are the government. Not if we’re talking about the government as such.’
‘Which proves again that the Party is just a pretext, a phantom,’ Yoyo said contemptuously. ‘There’s no dividing line between politics and business any longer, the State can’t be trusted to act in State interests. China’s oi
lmen putsched Mayé into power, the Zhong Chan Er Bu helped them, and the whole Party knows it. Could be that Zheng putsched him out again afterwards. He’s our biggest industrialist, a power in his own right.’
‘And the Party wouldn’t have known about that.’
‘Quite so.’ Yoyo tapped the page. ‘And then further down: Nobody there suspects– what? Something or other. The everything turns out to go with the next bit of the sentence. Everything is under way. They sit there and debate whether it’s even worthwhile getting rid of Vogelaar at this stage. I don’t know about you, but to me that sounds as though the balloon’s about to go up.’
‘Any ideas about the bit before that?’
‘Vogelaar didn’t know about the timing any more than the nature of the operation.’ Tu shrugged. ‘I don’t think any of it gets us anywhere.’
‘Well, that’s great,’ Jericho said. ‘We’re stuck.’
Yoyo toppled backwards onto the bed, her arms spread wide. Then she sat up suddenly.
‘How does that work with Vogelaar, exactly?’
‘What do you mean?’ Jericho blinked, confused. ‘How does what work?’
‘Well, right now.’ She pursed her lips. ‘Or let’s go back an hour. Twelve o’clock. Blam. Blam! Vogelaar’s shot, he’s lying dead in the museum. What happens next?’
‘A specialist police team arrives. The scene of the crime is secured, then forensics get to work.’
‘What happens to the corpse?’
‘Right now, it’ll still be there. Forensics work takes time. Then it’ll be on the autopsy table at, say, two o’clock at the latest, then they’ll cut him open, snip snap.’
‘And the eye?’
‘Depends. The forensic surgeon isn’t an investigating officer himself – it’s a bit different from how you might have seen it at the movies. He just makes a note of everything worth handing over to the investigating team. Assuming that he notices anything odd about the eye, he’ll put it in his report. Maybe he’ll put it back into the socket; maybe he’ll put it aside as evidence.’
‘How long does an autopsy take?’
‘Depends on the case. There’ll be no doubt here about the cause of death. Vogelaar was shot, so it’ll be quick. They’ll be done in two or three hours.’
‘And then?’
‘The forensic surgeon will sign the corpse over.’ Jericho gave a wry grin. ‘You can pick it up, if you bring a hearse.’
‘Good. We’ll fetch it.’
‘Great plan.’ Tu stared at her. ‘Where are you going to get a hearse?’
‘No idea. Since when have we been scared of a challenge?’
‘We’re not, but—’
‘Why do we even need a hearse?’ Yoyo sat up straight now, all vim and vigour. ‘Why not go and fetch him in an ordinary car? What if we were next of kin?’
‘Well, sure,’ Tu said mockingly. ‘You could easily be his sister. The hair, the eyes—’
‘Hold on!’ Jericho raised a hand. ‘First off, we wouldn’t get anywhere without a hearse. Secondly, if they’ve taken the eye, Vogelaar’s corpse will be no use to you at all.’
Yoyo’s burst of energy melted away. She folded her arms and frowned despondently.
‘Thirdly,’ Jericho said, ‘that’s still a good idea you had there.’
Tu narrowed his eyes. ‘What are you thinking of doing?’
‘Me?’ Jericho shrugged. ‘Nothing. Probably I daren’t even show my face any more in Berlin, they’ll pick me up on the spot. My hands are tied.’ He smiled grimly. ‘Yours aren’t though.’
Charité Hospital, Institute of Forensic Pathology
Around three o’clock, Jan Kees Vogelaar was looking fairly good. Granted, his face was waxy and he was dead as a doornail, but he wore a proud sneer that seemed to say, kiss my arse. A few hours ago he had been lying in a pool of his own blood, his eyes wide open, his limbs twisted, looking more like the Ides of March. Fallen like Caesar beneath a Roman temple. A death that may sound romantic in the textbooks, but in fact it was a bloody mess. The bald man lying next to him, likewise dead, did little to make the picture any prettier.
Once he had been photographed from all angles, and the dead man next to him with the pencil jutting from his eye, they zipped him up into a plastic bag and drove him across to the Institute of Forensic Pathology at the Charité Hospital. Here he was weighed and measured, his identifying features noted down, and he was put into cold-storage. He didn’t stay there for long, however, but was taken out and X-rayed several times. This showed where the flechettes had lodged or broken apart in his body, as well as revealing old bone breakages, mended now, and a titanium knee. It also showed that his left eye was artificial. He was wheeled into the autopsy theatre, along with the bald man, where they were just about to slice him open when Nyela was brought in as well. This meant that three of the five dissection tables were occupied by as yet unidentified corpses. The surgeons removed Vogelaar’s organs, examined them, weighed them, drained off bodily fluids and measured the volumes, noted down all their procedures and findings. Meanwhile a case team was hastily assembled, and the investigating officers compared photographs of the corpses with pictures from the city police files. It was soon established that the female corpse had been found in a car registered in the name of Andre Donner, resident in Berlin since a year ago. He was a restaurant owner, married to Nyela Donner, and photographs from the records left no doubt as to the dead woman’s identity, or that the man with the glass eye was her husband.
The bald man’s name, though, was not so easily established.
Just as Donner (alias Vogelaar) was being sewn back up, the pathology lab got a phone call from the German Foreign Office, saying that Donner’s murder had caught the attention of the Chinese authorities. Chinese and German police working together, so the civil servant on the phone said, had been investigating a gang of technology smugglers for some time. Perhaps the restaurant owner’s death had something to do with a failed handover, and Donner might well not be Donner at all, but somebody else entirely, an alias. The Berlin government was very keen to do what they could to help the Chinese investigators, two of whom would be arriving in a few minutes to take a quick look at the body. Could the autopsy team please treat them as guests of the government?
The trainee doctor who took the call said that she would have to make enquiries. The civil servant gave his name and a telephone number, asked her to move as quickly as she could, and hung up. Next, the trainee spoke to the head of the Institute, who told her to check with the Foreign Office that it was all above board, and to bring the Chinese investigators through to theatre as soon as they arrived.
4 – 9 – 3 – 0 – she dialled—
* * *
—and was put through. It really was the Foreign Office number, but the extension number was a little special. It didn’t actually exist. Thus she wasn’t actually put through where she thought she would be when she heard a recorded voice saying:
‘This is the Foreign Office. Currently all our lines are busy. You will be put through to the next free line. This is the Foreign Office. Currently—’ Then a woman’s voice, gentle, melodious: ‘Foreign Office, good afternoon, my name is Regina Schilling.’
‘Institute of Forensic Pathology, Charité. Could you put me through please to – erm—’ The woman on the line paused, probably looking at her notes. ‘Mr Helge Malchow.’
‘One moment,’ said Diane.
Jericho grinned. He had picked a first name and family name quite at random out of the Berlin telephone book, and had programmed a few sentences into Diane. The whole little show would certainly dispel any doubts the caller might have that she was speaking to the Foreign Office – and not, for instance, to a computer in a hotel room. Diane’s German was perfect, of course.
‘Mr Malchow’s line is busy at the moment,’ Diane told the trainee. ‘Would you like to hold?’
‘Will it take long?’
Jericho pointed to the right answer.
‘Just a moment,’ Diane said, and then cheerfully, ‘Ah, I see that he’s just hung up. I’ll put you through. Have a pleasant day.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Helge Malchow,’ Jericho said.
‘Charité Hospital. You called about the Chinese police delegation.’
‘That’s right.’ His own German wasn’t bad at all. Maybe a bit rusty. ‘Have they arrived yet?’
‘No, but they’re quite welcome. They should drive to Building O.’
‘Splendid.’
‘Perhaps you could tell me their names?’
‘Superintendent Tu Tian is leading the investigation, Inspector Chen Yuyun will be with him. The two of them are working undercover, so perhaps you could be so good as to let them see what they need as quickly as you can, not too much red tape.’ It was a ludicrous claim, but it sounded halfway plausible. ‘By the way, you’ll find that they only speak English.’
‘That’s fine. We’ll keep the red tape to a mini—’
‘Thank you very much indeed.’ Jericho hung up, and dialled Tu’s number.
‘All systems go,’ he said.
* * *
Tu put his phone down and looked at Yoyo. She could see it in his eyes that he absolutely loathed what they were about to do.
‘I never wanted to see another corpse in my life,’ he said. ‘Corpses in tiled rooms. Never again.’
‘Sometime or other we’ll all be corpses in tiled rooms.’
‘At least I won’t have to see that for myself, when it’s me.’
‘You don’t know that. They say that you see yourself when you die. See yourself lying there, and you couldn’t care less.’
‘I could care.’
Yoyo hesitated, then reached out and squeezed Tu’s hand. Her slim white fingers against his soft, liver-spotted flesh. A child seeking to reassure a giant. She thought of the evening before and the story Tu had told her during the course of the night, of people locked away in prison for so long that in the end the prison was in them. For years now she had been carrying around her own burden of self-reproach, certain that in some obscure way she was responsible for the grown-ups’ pain; and now that burden was taken from her shoulders and replaced instead with the truth, which was so much worse, so much more depressing. She had smoked, boozed, cried, and felt helpless, useless, the way children feel when they see their parents’ moods, so complex, so painful, moods that they can’t understand and think must be something to do with them. Every argument Tu used to make her feel better about it just deepened the pain. His story freed her from the accumulated years of self-pity, but now she felt a vast pity for Hongbing instead, and wondered if she wanted a father she had to pity. Now she was ashamed of even having had the thought, and again she felt guilty.